


Of Bottlenecks and Broken Hearts

by silvercobwebs



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Ensemble Cast, F/M, Gen, Humor, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercobwebs/pseuds/silvercobwebs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's valentine's Day, so naturally our heroes choose to spend the night alone, together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bottlenecks and Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Set around _The Messenger_

It had been a slow night, the few customers who passed through in all their rose-scented, starry-eyed, cliché-addled glory hadn't stayed long. Valentine's Day. Had to be, oh, at least seventh on his list of Favourite Over-Commercialised Holidays. Broken hearts, broken bottles, and the occasional broken bone. Oh alright, Joe conceded, you could scratch that last part. It just had a kind of poetry to it. 

He extracted a Love Heart from the small glass bowl set on the bar counter and made a face. 'Be Mine?' begged the chalky candy. He shook his head and roughly shoved the bowl under the counter. Just the sight of it was making his teeth ache. 

Joe had half-expected to see him tonight, and when the familiar figure draped himself across the nearest flat surface – thankfully this time it was a stool -- the Watcher couldn’t suppress his smile. 

'What are you looking so smug about?' Methos asked, leaning over the bar, reaching for his emergency bottle, only to find his hand none too gently slapped away. 

'You, my friend,' Joe smirked, 'are becoming predictable.'

Methos scowled, rather petulantly, Joe reflected as he flicked the cap off expertly and placed the bottle before him. 

'Stick a knife through my heart, why don’t you?' Methos said, taking a generous pull. 

Joe carefully considered the proposition. 'Well I suppose it might shut you up for a minute...'

The Immortal made an undignified noise of contempt and slouched back on his stool – quite an impressive feat considering the lack of space. Yet somehow Methos always managed to melt into any piece of furniture quite comfortably. Joe had always meant to ask him how he did it exactly – missing an extra vertebrae or two? Or perhaps, after a few millennia, you just prioritised the basic creature comforts. His thoughts drifted. Now there was one weird thesis just waiting to be written. Maybe the Watchers could provide a slouching stipend, a year of watching Immortal postures, with a specialisation in sprawls. God knew he could do with a few tips on that; all he was feeling when he sat down of late was a twinge in his hip. 

Methos adjusted his position slightly and rested an elbow on the bar. 'So what do you mean by predictable anyway?'

'It's Valentine's Day, and instead of enjoying an excuse to go out and actually be with someone who’d tolerate you for more than five minutes, you’re in here, on your own.' Methos opened his mouth to respond, but Joe continued 'And you’re about to tell me that Valentine's Day is all commercial anyway, and you never celebrated it back in the day and really, St. Valentine was just a huge jerk.'

Methos sealed his lips, a glimmer of annoyance - and what was that, amusment? - crossing his features.

Pouring himself a shot, Joe grinned triumphantly. _So what if I think he’s got a point? That was worth it just to catch him out for once_. 'Am I close?'

An empty bottle saluted him. Well that was a new record. 

'If I agree,’ Methos said, tossing a peanut into his mouth. 'Do I get another drink, and a night free from lectures on the finer points of social etiquette?’ 

Joe handed over the second bottle with a shake of his head. 'Believe me, I wouldn't dream of lecturing you, buddy. Way too much hassle. I'd need to start writing footnotes after the first couple of hours.' He nodded to the conveniently located couches, and they moved. Mike took over at the bar, and Joe finally grasped an opportunity to properly relax. 

'So I suppose your excuse is because the place is just so stuffed tonight?' Methos queried, eyeing empty tables. 

'Happy couples and blues aren’t exactly the most comfortable of bedfellows, Adam,' said Joe, resting his cane against the nearest chair leg. 'Although we get by.'

Methos nodded, and started to listen to the in-house band. Not bad, he grudgingly admitted, slowly tapping a long finger on the arm of the couch. Not that he could carry a tune in a bucket, but he knew what he liked, and, well, he didn't hate this. It was relaxing enough, the atmosphere was mellow, and at least he was getting a respite from MacLeod’s latest brush with martyrdom. 

Then Buzz hit, and Methos silently cursed any gods that still cared to listen. 

'Bloody typical,' he muttered, leaning up and staring at the door.

Joe noticed the familiar change in posture and frowned. 'Trouble?'

Duncan entered, and Methos slouched back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. 'When is he not?'

The Highlander crossed the floor in a few swift strides. 

'I didn't expect to see you here,' he said, shoving Methos' feet from the end of the couch before making himself comfortable. 

Methos cocked an eyebrow. 'Funny, I was thinking the same thing. I thought your bed would have collapsed from the amount of notches carved into it by now.'

Duncan shot him that look that Methos liked to think was especially reserved for him. The look that said _I'm pretending to be annoyed because I can't think of a witty retort. Confound you, Oh Master of Acerbic And Charmingly Erudite Remarks!_. 'Jealous?'

'Just bored,' Joe answered for him. 

Methos stretched out again, feet now resting on the table. 'So why are you here anyway?'

MacLeod shrugged. 'I wanted a quiet night in.'

Methos and Joe exchanged meaningful looks. Well this wasn’t good. 

'What?'

'I worry when you say that. It usually means something terrible is about to happen.'

'Gee thanks.'

Duncan rolled his eyes, and it didn't take long before a kind of murky quiet began to settle over the small group, each seemingly lost in thought. Duncan wondered if he really brought trouble when he sought peace, whilst Methos dutifully pondered over the dire ramifications of breaking in new hiking boots, and Joe was concerned by something entirely different. 

'Guys', he cautiously began,'don’t you think this,' he gestured at the three of them, 'is just a little, you know...?'

Duncan frowned. 'What?'

'Pathetic?'

'No.'

'No!'

'I told you, I haven't done Valentine’s since some genius decided to drop Lupercalia.'

'And I just want some peace and quiet.' Duncan was adamant. 

'Okay, okay!' Joe raised his hands up defensively. 'I just thought maybe..'

Two pairs of eyes slowly stared him down. 

The bartender sighed and reached for his cane. 'I think I'll get us some more drinks.'

'Good idea.'

'Joseph Dawson, you are indeed a model for all purveyors of alcohol.'

'Yeah, yeah…' grumbled the aforementioned 'model', heading back to the bar whilst muttering something about a wise-ass pompous little something-or-other. 

A companionable silence settled upon the three men once more. Joe knew it couldn't last. It never did. Experience was to prove him right once again. 

Two heads turned in succession as Richie stomped his way into the bar, practically throwing his motorcycle helmet on the nearest available surface. 

Joe turned to greet him. 'Hey kid, what's –'

'You do not want to know,' scowled the young immortal, slumping against the bar. 

'Ooohkay,' said Joe, passing him a glass, glancing to his other drinking companions who exchanged clueless looks. 

A metaphorical light-bulb flickered above Duncan's head. 'I thought you had a date tonight?' He attempted to look sympathetic, but sometimes it was difficult when Richie pouted like that. He once had a puppy that had a very similar expression, and every now and then the similarity was downright spooky. 'It didn't go well?'

Richie scooped up his glass and deposited himself on a nearby chair. 'What is it with woman, Mac? I mean, are they all crazy or what?'

Duncan smiled.'What happened?'

Joe had a feeling this was going to be an interesting story, and brought a back-up round of drinks with him on his way back to their table. If all else failed, he figured he could try plying Methos with booze and seeing if he could extract any blackmail-worthy info. Hell, he knew that's just what that crafty old goat was gonna try on them anyway. Might as well get in there first. He settled down to listen to the poor kid's newest tale of romance gone awry. 

It had turned out, to Richie’s obvious dismay that not all women were won over in precisely the same way. In fact, **some** women were not enamoured at all by the prospect of an ice-hockey game, followed by a romantic dinner for two at the nearest taco outlet. 

'I was gonna pay for everything!' Richie wailed. 

'And you really thought that was the best way to spend Valentine's?' Duncan carefully prodded. 

'Look, I know chicks like a bit of class, but she said she didn't want a fuss!'

Methos laughed. 'Oh come on, you didn't actually believe that?'

Nodding, Richie sighed, downing the rest of his drink. His voice suddenly quiet, he mumbled, 'That wasn't exactly the worst part.' Suddenly the state of his fingernails appeared to be of utmost importance. 

Methos jerked up in his seat, suddenly interested. 'Well this just gets better and better.'

'Methos,' Duncan hissed chidingly. But the rebuke lost its effect somewhat when he realised he couldn't keep a straight face either. By this point Joe had slouched back in his seat, listening with a practised ear, a small smile playing across his lips. 

Richie sighed dramatically. 'I kinda got shot.'

Well, that’s hardly your –'

'By an arrow.'

Duncan blinked, unsure if he'd heard his student correctly. 'By a what?'

'An arrow.' Richie was turning an interesting shade of pink. 

The Highlander frowned. 'But what would anyone be doing with a...' His voice trailed off as he realised what had happened. Of course. Who else would you associate with today? 

Methos was laughing so hard he found himself wondering if he could die from the experience. Gasping for breath, he composed himself enough to neatly piece the whole sorry story together. 'Let me get this straight. You're telling us that you got taken out by Cupid?'

Richie nodded forlornly. 

Duncan's bottom lip was beginning to wobble as he struggled to repress the rather unmanly giggles that were threatening to emerge. Joe was shaking his head, unbelieving. 

'Turns out the mall got a little too realistic with the Valentine's props,' Richie attempted to explain, only leading to another small outburst of borderline hysteria. 

'Kid, you have made my day. Possibly my century,' said Methos, the laughter slowly starting to fizz and bubble away. 

'Hey, well at least **I** had a date, Old Man.' Richie's chin jutted up in defiance. 'I bet Galileo was still working out all that astrology stuff the last time you were in my position.'

'Astronomy,' Duncan corrected, ever the teacher. 

'Same difference!'

'Well, not really,' Methos began, but was mercifully interrupted by the telltale Presence of yet another Immortal. This time, it wasn't just a few heads turning as the newest guest entered. Every male in the room couldn’t take his eyes away from the entrance. 

Amanda was dressed to kill. 

Or at the very least dressed to commit petty larceny. 

'Good evening, boys,' she purred as she glided towards them. The short red dress clung to every curve, and as for that split running up her thigh, and perhaps higher... Duncan had to blink a few times before coherent thought returned 'Hi', he smiled, standing, offering his chair. 'You look amazing.'

'I know.' Her hair was its natural brown, tightly cropped, highlighting her striking features. A web of diamonds glittered across her throat. Those must be the rainy-day jewels, Methos inwardly mused, wondering how she had the gall to wear them out in public. 

'Something tells me you're not just here for a drink,' said Duncan, offering his chair again. Amanda shook her head and smiled charmingly. 

'I have a date of course. It **is** Valentine's Day, you know.'

Duncan's brow puckered. 'I thought we said we were just going to have a quiet night in.'

Amanda raised a scolding finger.'No, MacLeod. **You** said that. **I** said I was going to have some fun.'

'So what are you doing here then?' asked Richie, whose eyes seemed to keep inadvertently straying in the direction of her chest. _Oh God, Mac's gonna kill me if I keep looking at her like that._ Amanda smoothed out an invisible wrinkle from her plunging neckline, and Richie swallowed. Hard. _But man, I know I'm gonna die happy._

'I'm waiting for him to get ready.'

In the interim, Joe had stood up and plucked an evening jacket from the back of his chair, his movements uncharacteristically awkward. 'Well, come on then.'

Duncan appeared to be choking on something large and disbelief-shaped. 'Dawson?!'

'You didn't forget the reservations, did you?' Amanda linked an arm though her date's. 

Joe looked offended. 'I've been planning this for two weeks. You think I'm gonna forget to book the place?'

'But, but, but...' came an indignant splutter. 

'You sound like a motorboat, sweetie. Try one word at a time.'

Duncan looked from an embarrassed Richie, who seemed to be determinedly attempting to stare at the ceiling, to a highly amused Methos, who was simply sitting back and evidently enjoying watching the little tableau unfold. 

Swallowing back several inelegant responses, Duncan finally settled on one. 'I didn’t think he was your type.'

'I guess you don't know me as well as you'd like.' Amanda flashed a smile, reminding Methos of a cat surrounded by a small pile of feathers. She tightened her grip around Joe's arm and winked, clearly enjoying this. 

Joe shrugged innocently. 'I guess she prefers the older man, Mac.'

'But I **am** the older man!'

'Well, technically, I'm the – '

'Shut up Methos,' snapped the synchronised response. He decided to return back to his bottle. Beer offered a much more stable relationship. No arguments, no confusion, just the pure simplicity of fermented barley. Hmm. Maybe he was getting a little set in his ways after all. 

Joe offered a sympathetic smile. 'Look, no offence guys, but do you really think I'm gonna spend tonight with you losers when I could be out having a little fun?'

'You randy old dog.' Methos smirked. 

'Speak for yourself. Besides, life is short.'

Methos cocked his head to the side. 'Much like her hemline.'

Amanda fluttered her eyelashes oh-so slowly. 'Adam, would you care to join us?'

Carefully sipping away the remnants of liquid from his glass, Methos shook his head. 'Tempting as the prospect of a ménage à trois sounds, I have a prior engagement.' He nodded to the small stack of bottles and glasses littering their table. 'So many heads, so little time.' He demonstrated his dedication by taking a swig from his favourite type of head. 

'Pity.' She pouted, either not noticing or not caring about Joe's sigh of relief. 'Well I think it's time we were gone,' she continued unabashed, and they headed for the door. 

'Just remember to go a little easy on the weaker sex,' Duncan called out as they reached the door. 

'Mac, I hardly think I'm going to –' Joe began. 

'I wasn’t talking to you.'

They could still hear Amanda's laughter as she dragged her date towards the waiting taxi. 

Richie was about to take a pull of his own drink when he paused mid-draw. 'Wait a minute. Did Joe just call us a bunch of losers?'

++++

'I can’t believe Amanda and Dawson would...' Duncan shook his head and started again, forcing a weak smile. 'I mean, I know it's just a social thing, a joke. They're not actually... Joe wouldn't do that.'

Methos peered over the rim of his glass.'Oh, I don't know, MacLeod,' he intoned slowly, savouring the outraged expression on his friend's face. 

'Not funny.'

'You know, the old guy's got a point, Mac. I mean, Joe does have that "distinguished" look.' Richie waved in the direction of a non-existent beard. 

'With all the benefit of being the younger man, too,' Methos added. 

'And boy do the ladies love a musician.'

Methos nodded solemnly.'Oh yes, you can't underestimate that sort of thing. I knew this lute player in Rome, round about 43 BC. Ugly as sin, but the women couldn't get enough of him.'

Duncan's scowl deepened. 'You're real comforting, you know that?'

'And he's got his own business too.' Richie regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips. Another classic case of Foot-In-Mouth disease. 

'You know, I'm starting to have second thoughts about that little offer myself now,' Methos said, half eyeing the exit. 

'Don't you dare!'

Oh gods, MacLeod was just so _easy_ sometimes. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. A barrel made entirely out of fish. 

'Afraid of the competition?'

'No. There is no competition. It is not a competitive situation! That's the whole point!'

'Of course not, Mac.' Hang on, was Richie actually patronising him? 

'Absolutely. How could we even think such a thing?'

Duncan never trusted Methos when he looked that sincere, and the furrow in his brow was starting to resemble a small canyon. Well, he decided, he wasn’t going to let Methos bug him. He was far too mature for that. 

'Good,' he settled back into his seat, 'I'm glad we cleared that up.'

'Good.'

'Fine.'

'Great.'

Mature, see? Brimming over with maturity, even. 

'I mean, it's ridiculous.'

Two heads nodded a little too emphatically. 

...

Wasn’t it?

 

Fin.


End file.
